The struggle is real for Miss Six who is too tired to wake up this morning, despite not being tired enough to go to bed when asked last night.
Apparently her legs are too tired to get her out of bed.
What does that even mean? It’s too early for me to even deal with this level of ridiculousness.
After some coaxing, darling daughter’s legs awaken to walk her to my next challenge; the dreaded breakfast scene.
After five attempts to ask the Netflix or iPad transfixed zombie (don’t judge) what she wants for breakfast, I finally hear “Weet-Bix”.
Yesssss! We finally have an answer.
But don’t get too excited and pop the champagne for a celebratory Mimosa; oh no, the battle wages on.
As I take a champion’s breakfast to her highness, she declares she wanted peanut butter on toast.
Because didn’t you know, dear reader, that “peanut butter and toast” and “Weet-Bix” sound identical and obviously I’m a fool for not noticing this earlier?
Do I let my fury roar and scream “you eat what you’ve got or you don’t eat” or do I keep the peace and enjoy the quiet submission affords?
Peace and quiet wins for the mother who needs to get ready for work.
As I get ready, I check on the child to see if she’s eating.
The dog has made off with her toast as she sits unaware that breakfast was even put in front of her.
Quiet does not prevail in this moment. I’m not ashamed to admit I shouted.
“Why haven’t you eaten your breakfast and why does the dog have a peanut butter grin on his face?”
Daughter looks to me as if I’ve lost my mind, before requesting a milkshake and an update on the status of her Weet-Bix.
I dump the bowl of cereal in front of the self-styled queen.
As I continue my transformation from mum in PJs to career girl about to go to work, I shout out for her majesty to start brushing her own hair.
The curse of tired limbs returns to rear its ugly head.
“No, Mum! I want you to do it. My arms are too tired”
“You’re a big girl now, help me out!” I beg.
I repeat the cry without reply only to discover the tired leg royal is out jumping on the trampoline.
You’ve got to be kidding me!
I get her back in the house and get her uniform ready for her to put on while I start getting her lunch ready.
After this morning’s breakfast fiasco, she has no choice in her lunchbox filling.
I hear laughter gaining volume in the hall.
I look over to see my child running around in her birthday suit; the dog has seized this moment as playtime and grabbed her school uniform in his mouth.
I take a breath and ask as calmly as I can . . .
“Please come and get your clothes on. We have to leave in ten minutes, and so help me, if you’re not ready I will take you as you are!”
This is the moment I realise – I have turned in to my mother.
The uniform flies on and the hair is done (many tantrums, tears and removed knots later).
At last I think we’re ready to go, but oh no – something’s been forgotten.
A toy is needed.
Honestly, I give up!
We spend the next five minutes searching for the best toy she can take, and then I buckle her in the car before she can change her mind.
I’m not sure I know what normal feels like anymore, but what I do know for sure is that this morning’s drama is not unique to my household; it’s one that I’m sure is repeated in the homes of young families the world over.
It’s pretty much a fact of life that parents are time poor. Working parents most of all.
As I wave goodbye to my dear child, I find myself wondering if there is a way to get some control back in my life and let someone else do some of my thinking for me.
What if someone could keep track of and pay bills to be paid for my investment property, help me set up and monitor a financial strategy, or help me keep track of where my money goes? What if someone could help me pay off my house sooner, or get more out of my tax return?
The Hopkins Group can.
You can ask them how here.
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